Signal Rock in Three Days
by Adamantwrites
Summary: While searching for Adam who has failed to make Signal Rock in three days, Joe thinks about all the times his brother never gave up on him and came to his aid.
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

"Be at Signal Rock in three days—and be on time for a change." That was the last thing Adam Cartwright had said to his brother, Joe, as he left Eastgate for his "rest cure" of hunting after a long, hot cattle drive and the sale of the beeves at the terminus-this hot, little Arizona city. Adam had the $5,000 payment tucked safely in his wallet but had given Joe a large bill so he could "celebrate." But Joe couldn't see any way to celebrate in this town. The sign on the Red Dog Saloon advertised girls but Joe had looked around and there were no girls, just dirty, sweaty cowboys drinking piss-warm beer and playing poker.

When Joe asked about entertainment, the bartender told him that there was going to be a trial and people were going to be flocking in to see it. A man named Obadiah Johnson had shot and killed his wife and his business partner when he had found them together in his bed, "…and they weren't sleeping," he added. "Obadiah thought the partnership had gone too far," the bartender said and both Joe and Adam smiled.

In the saloon, when Adam told Joe that he wanted to relax from the hardships of the cattle drive by getting a little hunting in and then, once they met up again, to take in a little fishing at Pyramid Lake, Joe said that he was loco; that was rough land to go through just to end up turning back around and heading to Pyramid Lake when Lake Tahoe had fish leaping out of the water, just taunting humans to try and catch them. But when Adam had his mind made up, that was it. Joe had learned that long ago—old " Yankee Granite Head" always thought he knew best and Joe, many times, had to begrudgingly admit that Adam did know what was best. And it was because of that, that Joe had no qualms about Adam taking off on his own for almost four days and enjoying time spent alone, something Joe didn't understand.

Joe enjoyed people, thrived being in the center of conversation and laughing and having life swirl around him. He received his energy from the company of others, particularly pretty girls; life seemed to snap with energy whenever he was interacting with others and a pretty face and shapely legs made him truly feel alive. But not Adam; people seemed to drain the life force from him and he always needed to be alone, to play his guitar and create melodies or to read and sketch-to live in his head for a time in order to gain back the ability to interact with others.

Now Joe was at Signal Rock, waiting for his oldest brother to show. Not only was Joe on time, he had been early. He had camped last night under a shady tree on the east side of Signal Rock, he and Cochise, and Joe would smile to himself whenever he thought of Adam's face when he would arrive and see "Little" Joe sitting and waiting with a "And where have you been?" expression on his face.

"Big brother is going to be surprised," Joe said to Cochise as the horse nudged him. "I know, I know; you just want to get started home. It was a hot drive wasn't it?" Joe asked his horse. "I think you lost a little weight, Cooch. We're going to hafta tighten that girth a bit more, huh?" The horse nudged his arm again. Joe was drinking his morning coffee and it almost sloshed over the side. "Oh, forgive me. I forgot that you need your coffee to open your eyes and clear your head. Well, you can have the rest of it." And Cochise stuck his tongue into the cup and licked up the bitter liquid until Joe, laughing, pulled the cup away. "Hey, it's hot, boy! And too much coffee and you'll take off and gallop all the way back to the Ponderosa."

Joe sighed; it was early but the day was beginning to heat up. Joe looked around; this was rocky, dusty land and Signal Rock was a few yards behind him. Fortunately, there was water nearby and Cooch and he had both been able to take long draughts of the sweet water and Joe could fill up his two canteens for the dry ride until they reached the lakes of Nevada. So Joe waited, even drifting off for a while.

He woke with a start. Joe looked around, his heart pounding. Cochise was a few feet away cropping the short grass and other than that sound, the air was still. Joe stood up. "Adam? Adam? Adam, are you here?" Joe wondered if maybe Adam was playing a joke on him, woken him up and then stepped out of sight, but there was no response; the air still hung heavy with the early afternoon heat.

"Hey, Cooch," Joe called and the horse lifted its head. Joe picked up the saddle and the horse walked to him as Joe approached. "We need to go look for oldest brother. He should be here by now so I figure he's probably on the other side of Signal Rock. Let's go but he won't believe that I was early. But wait until I tell him Obadiah only got five years instead of hanging; And Adam was so sure that a man's gotta pay the ultimate price of his life for murder."

Joe rode around Signal Rock but found no sign of Adam or anyone else. By nightfall, it would be four whole days since he had last seen Adam and Joe began to feel sick; Adam was never late.

"We best go look for him, Cooch. You call out if you hear his horse coming, okay?" And Joe kicked his horse and then began to backtrack to where Adam had taken off east over the mountains. "I tried to tell him, Cochise, tried to tell him that it was a hard ride and bad country but would he listen to me? Nope-wouldn't listen at all and now I bet that his horse has come up lame and that old Adam's having to walk in." But Joe didn't believe a single word he said; something bad had happened and he knew it. Joe felt cold chills; sweat had dampened the hair at his nape and his sweat-soaked shirt caused him to shiver despite the heat. "A goose just walked over my grave," Joe said aloud to his horse.

Joe traveled a whole day, sweeping the area which meant little forward progress but he covered a wider area; he found no tracks that he could discern as Adam's; the ground though was hard and therefore, unless a stone was crushed or there had been broken or split sticks with the mark of a horseshoe, there was no tracking anyone—at least for Joe.

"I sure wish Hoss was here, Cochise. Why Hoss can track a ghost." Joe pulled up his horse and called out again for Adam. He would wait each time and strain to hear any sound but there wasn't even the sound of birds. There was nothing but the infernal heat and the stillness of death.

Joe rode to a rise and sat for a few moments longer, standing up in the stirrups and looking around but didn't see even a dust cloud in the falling darkness. Nothing moved as he looked in all directions. Adam wasn't coming and that was it.

"Doesn't look too good," Joe told Cochise and the horse nodded its head as if agreeing. "In the morning, we'll go get more supplies and then really go look for him." So in the morning after a restless night, Joe turned his horse's head back toward Eastgate, knowing that he would have to cross dry, cruel land to get there in the shortest time. It would be hell for a man on foot. And Joe swallowed deeply; he feared for Adam and even though he knew that he couldn't have stopped Adam had he tried, Joe felt he should have tried, should have said or done something to keep Adam from going off alone.

"A man's responsible for what he does," Adam had said when discussing Obadiah Johnson, but Joe suddenly added for himself, "and for what he doesn't do as well."

TBC


	2. Part 2

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Part 2

Cochise was limping. Joe dismounted and picked up the rear right hoof, expecting to dig out a rock but saw instead, a split in the hoof. The shoe still held the hoof together but the split was causing the horse discomfort.

"Oh, hell," Joe said, "this is all I need." He swore under his breath and then stood up and took a deep breath. Panic began to overwhelm him and he felt tears spring to his eyes. He had to find Adam; he knew that something had happened, that Adam needed him and usually it was he who needed Adam.

"Adam? You busy?" Joe peeked inside Adam's room where he sat at his desk working. Joe had always been fascinated by Adam's school papers, how Adam wrote numbers and letters in an elegant script and it all looked so magical to him. Adam was almost a grown man now, seventeen, and Joe was always proud when Adam would take him into town with him for supplies. Sometimes, Adam would even let him handle the reins of the buckboard—or at least think that he was.

Adam turned his head to see Joe's eager face. "What you need small stuff?"

Joe took that as an invitation to come in, his face still serious. "Can I stay in here for a while?"

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep by now?" Adam had swiveled his desk chair around and with his forearms on his knees, looked into Joe's small face. Adam thought that Joe was almost pretty enough to be a girl with his large, hazel eyes and his small, delicate mouth.

Joe looked down at his bare feet, paying particular attention to his toes." I can't sleep."

"Oh, so that's your problem?" Adam sat back and then put out his arms. "C'mon." Joe climbed up into his brother's lap. "So why can't you sleep?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders, looking down at his hands as he picked at skin near his thumbnail, his bare legs dangling below his nightshirt; it had been Adam's nightshirt years ago and then Hoss'.

Adam put his hand on Joe's. "You're going to give yourself a hangnail, you keep that up. Maybe if you tell me why you can't sleep, I can help you." Adam patiently waited while Joe thought. Adam ran one hand through Joe's mass of curls, pushing the hair off his forehead.

"I have worry, Adam," Joe mumbled. "I got worry like Pa gets."

Adam suppressed a smile; nothing got by Joe. Just that morning at breakfast, their Pa had told Adam that he was worried over the dropping price of beef in Chicago- it had kept him up all night reworking figures of profit and loss. But Adam considered seriously what Joe had said; he knew what it was like to be a child and have worries, frightening worries. Adam's first thought was to tell Joe to let the older people worry for him but something stopped him. Since Joe's mother had died almost a year ago, Joe had often had bad dreams and woke up crying. Most of the time, Adam was the first in Joe's room and would try to soothe his little brother but then Pa would quickly follow and take over comforting his child but for some reason, Joe had come to him and not their father. Adam wanted to know why.

"What 's your worry, Joe?"

Joe looked up at him, tears ready to fall and said, "What if Pa dies too, Adam?"

Adam sat still; Joe had surprised him with his question.

"Joe, if anything would ever happen to Pa—and I don't think anything will—but of it did, I would take care of you and Hoss both. I'll always take care of you, Joe, always. And if you ever need me, all you have to do is ask and I'll be there. I swear it."

"But you're going away to that school and it's a long way away. You won't be here."

"It doesn't matter—I'd come home and Hop Sing would take care of you and Hoss until I got here. I'll always be here to take care of you whenever you need me."

"Even if I'm a grown man?'

"Even then." Adam was taken by surprise when Joe threw his arms around his neck and whispered, "I love you," in his ear. Adam swallowed to keep back tears, he was so moved. "How'd you like to sleep in here tonight?"

"Can I?" Joe looked delighted.

"Sure can, small stuff. You go crawl in under the sheets. I have some more math to do. Now get!" Adam helped Joe off his lap and smiled while he watched Joe scurry onto his bed and wriggle under the sheet and coverlet.

"Goodnight, Adam," Joe said.

"Night, Joe." And Adam went back to his calculations and Joe, secure in the knowledge that Adam would be there for him should he need him, soon fell asleep.

Cochise could only walk so Joe led the horse for hours until he heard the sound of a hammer on metal. As he walked further on, he saw a large building with a few attached rooms and on the covered porch was a large man who was working on a plow share, pounding it on an anvil.

"Afternoon," Joe called out so as not to surprise the man and be shot.

The man stopped his hammering, saw Joe and Cochise and smiled. He wiped his hands on his apron and walked out to meet the handsome, young man but he wasn't stupid; he knew he was out there alone and he also knew that there were many men on the run from the law who hoped to become lost in this inhospitable wilderness of Gila monsters coyotes, and deathly heat.

TBC


	3. Part 3

Part 3

"What can I do for you?' the man asked. He pulled out a bandana from his back pocket and wiped his brow. He was a big man but he had a gentle face.

"My horse has come up lame; looks like a split hoof." Joe walked Cochise in a small circle.

"Oh, I see it now." The man lifted up Cochise's rear hoof and examined it. "It's split all right. Looks like you won't be riding him for a few days."

"I was surprised to see you out here," Joe said as the man stood up.

"I'm the only blacksmith and farrier for miles. I also repair farming equipment. Like now, I got a plowshare that a farmer from about five miles off brought in. I also have the only water stop for 'bout ten miles every direction. There's a trough out back and a pump to fill your canteen."

"Then I'm not only surprised," Joe said smiling, "I'm lucky. Can you do anything to fix his hoof so he can travel?"

"I could patch in some tar but it wouldn't last. He'll just go lame again, probably split more, and no telling where you'll be when that happens. The only thing is to give him some rest, let his hoof grow some and then have him trimmed and reshod."

Joe felt his anxiety rise again. At this moment, Adam could be dying of thirst and calling for him. "I've got to get moving. You got another horse I can use? I'll leave my pinto here and then on my return trip, I'll pick him up and give you back your horse."

"Sounds fair," the man said, patting Cochise's flank. "It just so happens that I bought a horse off two men three days ago but you're welcome to stay here overnight—I got a room in the back you can use. It's a long, hard ride to Salt Flats."

"I'm not going to Salt Flats; I'm traveling south."

"Oh, son, there's nothing south 'cept dust, heat and dry bones. But if you're determined, I'll go get the horse." The man ambled off and Joe started to take his saddlebags and scabbard off Cochise.

"Now you get a good rest, Cooch, and I'll pick you up on my way back." The horse nudged Joe and snuffled.

The man came back leading a sorrel gelding and it took a moment for Joe to recognize it. "Here he is. Nice lookin' horse, isn't he?"

"Where'd you get that horse?" Joe's throat was tight. Adam was without even his horse.

"What?" The man noticed the change in Joe; he became tense and an energy snapped through him.

"Where'd you get that horse?"

"Now just a minute…" but the man could say no more before Joe had grabbed him by his shirt front and stuck his gun in the man's face.

Joe was leading Cochise into the barn when he felt a strong hand grab him by the shirtfront and slam him against the wall of the barn so hard that his hat flew off and the breath was knocked from him. Then a gun barrel was stuck in his face.

"How does it feel, Joe? Huh? How's it feel to have one of your kin pull a gun on you? Now imagine that it's your own son." Adam's jaw was clenched and he pressed his left forearm against Joe's chest while he held his gun to Joe's face.

Joe looked into Adam's eyes; their faces were inches apart. Joe had seen Adam angry before but never like this and never before at him. Joe could smell the pistol that was so close to his nose—the acrid odor of the metal and the scent of the oil used to clean it.

"I…I…"

"C'mon, Joe," Adam said, pressing harder on Joe's chest with his forearm, "you should have something to say. After all, you pulled a gun on Pa—your own father—my father."

Joe began to cry. "I'm sorry, Adam. I don't know why I did it. I'm sorry." Adam released Joe and holstered his gun. Joe slid down the wall and began to sob.

"I'm going to tell you something, Joe. This is only the second time that I've pulled my gun with no intention of using it. The other time was the first time I pulled it and I was so scared and shaking so badly that I wouldn't have hit the target had I pulled the trigger. So, tell me, would you have shot Pa had he tried to stop you? After all, you were aimed and ready."

Joe had pulled a gun on their father when he had tried to prevent Joe from returning a Chinese boy's corpse to his father. The Cartwrights and Luther Bishop were in a property rights battle over lumber on the Truckee Strip and there had been death on both sides. The young Chinese cook, the son of the cook at the Bishop's main house, had been killed, murdered, by a Ponderosa ranch hand and Ben feared that retaliation would be taken by using Joe. That fear rose in his throat when Joe said that he was returning the boy's body to his father alone and Ben feared that someone would later ride up to the Ponderosa and unceremoniously dump Joe's body in the front yard.

"I can't let you do it, son," Ben had quietly said but Joe was determined and so he pulled his gun on his own father. And now he had to face Adam.

Joe wiped his nose on his sleeve, the tears still coming. "No, Adam—you know that. I wouldn't shoot Pa. I don't know why I pulled my gun. I guess I just wanted Pa to see how important it was to me and things were just so…" Joe drew his knees up and put his head on his folded arms and cried.

Adam went down on one knee and spoke quietly to Joe. "You need to make things right, Joe. Pa may have seemed calm, not upset by it, but he was and still is. He loves you, Joe, more than you could ever imagine…and this has broken his heart."

At that, Joe fell apart completely. All the way back after taking the body to the boy's distraught father, Joe though about what he had done and he couldn't believe it himself. He had been thinking about what he would say to his father, how he would apologize for holding a gun on his own father. Perhaps his father would throw him out, tell him to never return and then Joe didn't know what would happen to him. He still needed his family so much. And now Adam was here and Joe didn't know what to say or do. "Help me, Adam. Tell me what to say to Pa. I need you to tell me. I don't know the words."

Adam reached out and placed his hand on Joe's neck and gave it a slight shake. "Joe, tell him what you told me, say what you feel."

Joe looked up at his brother. "But I'm not sure what I feel, Adam. Everything is all mixed up."

Adam gave Joe a lop-sided grin. "Welcome to the world and all the rest of humanity. C'mon, I'll go with you. Pa's at his desk." Adam reached down and offered his hand to Joe. Joe took it and Adam raised him up. Joe wiped his face on his sleeve. "Ready?" Joe nodded. Adam put his arm around Joe's shoulders and the two walked into the house together.

"That's my brother's horse. Now where did you get it?" Joe shoved the gun under the man's throat, his finger on the trigger. "Don't pull your gun unless you're ready to use it," Adam had told him when he taught Joe how to shoot. And Joe was ready to use it, ready to blow this man's head off if he had done anything to Adam.

"I bought it from a man who came through—he and another man. He just said it was an extra horse and he wanted to sell it. Honest, son."

"You got a bill of sale?"

"Yeah. Right there in the strong box."

Joe pushed the man ahead. "Show it to me." Joe followed and the man found the paper and handed it to Joe. Joe read and it was a proper bill of sale and Joe didn't know if it was a relief or not, but it wasn't Adam who sold his horse—it was a stranger.

"Who's this Jim Gann?" Joe holstered his pistol.

"Don't know. Never saw him before."

"You said there were two men; who was the other?"

"Never seen him before either, but this Gann called him…Frank. That was it—Frank."

"Did they say where they were going?"

"Salt Flats."

"Well," Joe said, "looks like I'm going to Salt Flats after all." And Joe went about saddling up Adam's horse, desperately trying to tamp down his fear that Adam was dead. It couldn't be—not Adam.

TBC


	4. Part 4

Part 4

Joe rode the rest of the day and through the night and arrived in Salt Flats early the next morning. He felt as if a fire burned inside him and as he traveled, he talked to Adam.

"I'm going to find those men, that Jim Gann and that Frank, and I swear to you, Adam, if I have to beat them to death, I will, but I'm going to find out what happened to you and where you are. You just wait for me, Adam. I'm coming to get you as soon as I can."

What was eating at Joe the most was when he had said, "I'll go with you as far as a hot bath…" He should have gone with Adam on the hunting trip. Together, they could have handled anything but he had let Adam go off into the wilderness alone and now Adam had been missing, had been gone for five days. Joe tried to tell himself Adam was still alive and images of a parched Adam dragging himself across hot rocks kept popping up in Joe's mind. He would try to chase away the pictures but they kept coming back, haunting him, along with an image of Adam lying in the dust while buzzards hopped around him, just waiting until he became too weak to swat them away. And then there would be nothing left of his brother.

"Just hold on, Adam. Just hold on. I'm coming to find you. Hold on."

It was dawn when Joe rode into Salt Flats; the streets were still quiet, no one out and about. He tied his horse outside the sheriff's office and walked in. A large man in a blue shirt had his back to the door as he was bent over a washstand.

"You the sheriff?" Joe asked.

The man turned around quickly; he was obviously startled. Joe noticed the tin badge on his shirt.

"Yeah, I'm the sheriff. Name's Smith. I guess I should move my washstand so my back's not to the door. The young man in front of him didn't smile; he had a serious expression and his eyes were sad. "Anything I can do for you?" He continued to wipe his wet face and then dried his hands.

"I hope so. I'm looking for two men; one named Jim Gann and the other named Frank."

"Frank Preston?"

"Could be."

"Well, you're too late. Last night they decided to shoot up the town and some of the good citizens, including me. I have them stretched out in the back room."

Joe let out a heavy sigh; he hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath. He was overwhelmed with lost hope—he would get no answers from Gann and Preston.

"What's your name, son?"

"Cartwright. Joe Cartwright."

The sheriff walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a long, thin, black wallet that had a slight curve in it. Joe recognized it. The curve was from Adam putting it in his back pocket so often.

"They had quite a bit of money on them—close to four thousand between them. They'd already spent a good part of it gambling and drinking. I found this on them," The sheriff held up the wallet, "with a bill of sale for cattle made out to Adam Cartwright tucked inside."

"That's my brother Adam's wallet and he had just shy of five thousand on him when he left Eastgate. I think those two robbed him—they may have killed him."

"I'm sorry, son. Here. Just sign off on this form and the wallet and money is yours." The sheriff pulled out a form that had listed on it all the personal property of both dead men. Joe signed the form and Sheriff Smith handed the wallet to Joe. He held the smooth, leather wallet in his hand. He had seen Adam pull it out so many times and it was bent to the curve of his body.

"If I can help you with anything…"

Joe looked up and then tucked the wallet inside his shirt. "Where's the telegraph office?"

"Three doors down. Turn right. Why?"

"I need to wire my family that my brother-might be dead." And Joe walked out. He was sick to his stomach and ducked into an alley to vomit. He retched and since his stomach was empty, all that came up was bitter bile. But Adam, he thought, might still be alive. After all, what did he actually know about Adam's disappearance?

"No one knows anything," Adam said, his black hair tousled from sleep. "All we know is that Vannie Johnson was killed and three men were seen riding away. These may not even be the men and if they are, they may have comes across her dead body and just ridden off, afraid that they would be accused."

"But, Adam, what if they are the men?" Joe knew what he wanted Adam to say; that it is was all right to stand back and watch the three men hang if the posse caught up with them.

Adam and Joe had left Virginia City a day earlier with a duly-sworn posse to bring back three men who had been seen leaving the Johnson's house. Vannie Johnson was found dead; she had been raped and strangled. A posse was formed and Adam and Joe had gone along, Adam, hoping to be the voice of reason. The group had been drinking that evening at a bar outside a lumber camp and were talking about lynching the men as soon as they found them, having already decided the men were guilty. So Joe, after waking up and realizing that it was Vannie's son's crying that had woken him, began to consider how he would feel were he in his place and his mother violated and killed.

What would his father have done in that situation? What would Adam have thought about lynching the suspected men? People's actions, Joe decided, depended on where they stood in relation to the crime. It was easy to be rational and to follow the letter of the law as long as the crime wasn't against your own blood. So Joe had woken up Adam and asked him about whether or not Adam would fight a whole posse or allow them to lynch the men.

"Maybe they are the men who did all that to Mrs. Johnson." Joe said.

"But what if they're not? What if they're innocent? Do you want to have a hand in hanging three innocent men?"

"I…I don't know, Adam. I mean, what if we knew? What if we knew they were guilty?"

"But we don't know. Joe—no one knows yet but God and unless you have a visiting angel to pass along a message to you, then you know nothing either. The men are innocent until it's proved they're not."

"But what if they confess? What then? Do we fight our friends? Do we pull guns on them to defend murderers?"

"Yes, Joe. If we have to fight our friends for what is right, then we will. And their guilt or innocence is a matter for the law to decide—not us. A man has a right to his day in court, to a proper defense."

"But Paiute says…"

"Don't listen to that blowhard. He doesn't know any more than you or me or anyone else. Now just go to sleep. We have an early start in the morning." Adam turned over placing his back to Joe and pulled his blanket back up around his ears.

Joe stared at Adam's back a few more seconds. "Adam, what if it was Pa? What if Pa had been killed and they were seen riding away from the Ponderosa? Would you feel the same way about bringing them in safe?"

Adam lay still and Joe waited, watching. He knew that Adam was considering his questions. Then quietly, Adam said, "Go to sleep, Joe. It's too late at night to be talking about such things."

And then Joe lay down, resting his head on his saddle, and pulled his blanket up to keep out the night chill. But he still had trouble sleeping.

Adam was right as usual; they didn't know anything except that they were after three men and their job was to deliver them safely to Virginia City for trial. Joe knew that he needed to listen to his older brother but yet…he knew that were it personal, Adam's decision wouldn't be so cut and dried. And Joe suddenly felt a closer kinship with his oldest brother; he knew that Adam struggled as well. But they were Cartwrights and no matter what, Cartwrights always attempted to do what was most honorable. And Joe decided that Adam was correct and there was no reason to have any more doubts that they were doing the right thing. He would stand alongside Adam even if it meant turning a gun on his neighbors. After all, the posse didn't know anything about the men's guilt; no one knew anything at all.

Joe didn't know how to word the telegram to his father and Hoss. He didn't know that Adam was dead and he wasn't sure that even if he did, he would send it in a telegram. Finally he wrote: Adam is missing five days. Meet me in Salt Flats.

And after Joe wrote it, he felt the tears well in his eyes; looking at the words on paper brought it home and made it more real, but he wiped his nose and tossed the money on the counter.

"My name's Joe Cartwright. When the wire comes for me, bring it to me immediately. I'll make it worth your time."

"Yes, sir. Where you gonna be?"

"Grabbing something to eat. If I'm not there, I'll be at a hotel. Which one do you recommend?"

"They's only one hotel and the restaurant's on the bottom floor. Can't miss it."

Joe nodded and left. "I don't know Adam's dead," Joe thought. "I don't really know anything except that two men are dead who sold Adam's horse and that they had Adam's wallet. But maybe Adam's horse was spooked and threw him and took off and those men found it and the wallet in the saddle bags." And Joe tried to convince himself that was a credible possibility. But he knew it wasn't. Maybe coffee would clear his head.

TBC


	5. Part 5

Part 5

Joe ordered breakfast but after only a few bites, he couldn't eat any more; the food stuck in his throat. He wanted to be home with his family sitting around the table and Adam teasing Hoss about his huge appetite. Pa would be reading his morning mail or the Territorial Enterprise and Hop Sing might even be fussing in the kitchen. The sun would be pouring in the window at his father's back. It revealed a vista of mountains that corralled the Ponderosa ranch house and for some reason, always made Joe feel safe. Instead, Joe was in a strange town, all alone and didn't know what the future held.

"Something wrong with the food?" The waitress stood beside Joe's table holding a coffeepot. She knew the eggs were fresh and the ham was choice since she ran the restaurant as well.

Joe looked up at her and offered a weak smile. "No—food's fine. I'm just not as hungry as I thought but I would like more coffee." Joe watched as the woman filled his cup and fought to keep from bursting out with, "My brother, Adam, might be dead! I can't eat because I'm torn up inside! He's probably dead or suffering only God knows what horrors, at this very moment as I sit here safely in a restaurant and eat ham and eggs and drink coffee! I should have gone with him but I said, no. I was too hot and tired—too selfish- but I should have gone no matter what. I should have!"

Instead, he calmly asked the waitress, "You have anyone who can run errands?"

The woman said she did and called into the kitchen for someone named Tommy who was a boy of about ten years. She introduced him to Joe as her son.

"There's a sorrel tied up in front—three white stockings. If you'll take him to the livery and tell them to water and feed him and rub him down, I'll give you a nickel."

"Sure, I'll do it."

"Good. Name's Cartwright. Got it?"

"Yeah. Water, feed, and rub down the sorrel with three stockings and your name is Cartwright."

Joe winked in approval and handed the boy a nickel. "I'll get right on it, Mister!" the boy said and gripping the nickel in his fist, he ran out the front. And Joe sipped his coffee, thinking for a brief moment about Cochise and how he was holding up.

It was almost noon according to the clock over the reservation desk. Why hadn't the wire come yet? Maybe it was still sitting in their family box at the general store, waiting for Hoss to pick it up. But no. In transcribing it, Lem would have seen how important it was; he would have delivered it himself to the Ponderosa if he had to.

"I'm going to have a beer," Joe told the reservation clerk. "If someone comes looking for me, send them to the saloon."

The clerk nodded and then called out, "The Silver Lady?"

"What?" Joe was confused.

"Will you be at The Sliver Lady?"

"Yeah. The Silver Lady." Joe walked down the hot street of Salt Flats. He thought back to the jail and how Jim Gann and Frank Preston were already dead. If only he had been there sooner, he told himself, just a few hours sooner, he would have found them alive and he would have had the pleasure of shoving his pistol barrel in Gann's mouth and threatening to blow out the back of his head if he didn't talk and tell what had happened to Adam.

And then Joe wondered what he would have done had Gann said that he had killed Adam. Joe took a table in a corner of the saloon and a barmaid came and asked him what he'd like. He told her a cold beer and she laughed and said that nothing in Salt Flats was cold; it had been hot for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to have a cool breeze. Even the birds were too damn hot to chirp she said and if they sat on a perch too long, they dropped off, dead—fried to a tasty crisp.

Joe just smiled and put the money on the table when she brought him a mug. Joe tossed a dime to her and she caught it in the air. "Thanks, handsome. Let me know if you want anything else." And she walked off, her skirts swaying.

Any other time, Joe would have admired the woman's hips and the white tops of her breasts mounding over the tight bodice of her dress. But today, he felt no urges, no desire. All his felt was an unfulfilled desire for revenge.

Joe gripped Red Twilight's hair, pulling his head back, and held this gun to Twilight's temple. "How's it feel, back-shooter? How's it feel to have someone face you from the front with a gun in their hand? You never gave my brother a chance, you bastard, to have a fair chance with your gun."

"Please," Twilight begged, "please…don't…don't do it." The man was sweating. He feared Joe who had gotten the best of him in a tussle. He had seen eyes like Joe's before—the eyes of a man possessed with hate.

"Oh, I'm going to do it—you can be sure of that. I just can't decide whether to blow out your brains by shooting you in the head or by jamming the barrel against the back of your throat and pulling the trigger. The barn rats can eat your splattered brains and guts."

Joe looked up as he heard a thud. Adam had almost fallen against the barn door, barely holding himself upright. Joe was taken aback; Adam's face was bloody where his hairline had been creased by Twilight's bullet. Joe was certain that Adam would want to see his almost-killer shot.

"Don't, Joe. Don't do it. We'll turn him in to Roy. I'll go with you."

"No, Adam. He almost killed Hoss—and I promised Hoss that I'd get Red Twilight, that I'd get the man who tried to kill him, the back-shooter who snuck up on him. I promised him and I'm going to do it. He almost killed you too, Adam! Don't you want to see him dead?" Joe pushed the gun firmly against Red's head; the man's eyes were wide in terror.

"You meant to kill him all the time, didn't you?" Adam and Joe had been tracking Red Twilight and Adam had agreed to go as far as beating a confession out of him when they caught him, but after that, they would turn him in to Sheriff Coffee—and Joe had agreed—or said that he did. Adam waited but Joe said nothing. Joe just stared down at Red's face, trembling with all the hate that surged through him.

"Yes, I meant to kill him and I'm going to. Do you hear that, Red?" Joe pulled on Red's hair again, pulling his head backwards until his neck was further exposed. "I'm going to kill you but I want you to taste it first and I want to see you afraid. You're afraid, aren't you, Red?" Joe said in a menacing voice. "What do you think you'll feel in those seconds when the bullet rips through your head?"

"Go ahead, Joe," Adam said. "Go ahead and kill him. But remember that this isn't justice—it's just your anger and fear. Hoss isn't dead. I'm not dead so what you're going to do is murder. Go ahead-sink to his level. Become a murderer. Go ahead, Joe!" Adam came closer. "Do it, Joe. Be like him. Be just like him, like the cowardly worm he is. Why should you be any better?"

Joe looked at Adam, at Adam's hazel eyes and a sudden calm fell over him; Joe knew that Adam was trying to save him from himself, from his anger, his rage that boiled up uncontrollably; Adam was trying to dig below Joe's overwhelming fury to touch his humanity.

Joe let Red's hair go and stepped back. Red Twilight fell on his side and then quickly scrambled off to the corner of the barn where he cowered. Joe was trembling so badly that he could barely hold his gun. Adam reached out and took the pistol from Joe.

"You're not like him, Joe; you're a Cartwright." And Joe fell against Adam, his legs almost having given out. Adam ruffled Joe's hair. "You're a Cartwright, Joe." Joe reached up and placed one hand on the back of Adam's neck and Adam grabbed Joe by the scruff of his and the two brothers looked at one another, their foreheads almost touching.

"Thanks, Adam," Joe said. "I think I was a little crazy there. I needed you to keep me sane."

"Mr. Cartwright?"

Joe looked up from his beer; it was the telegrapher. He handed Joe the wire and Joe fished around in his shirt pocket and gave the man four bits.

"Thanks," the man said and smiled. He pocketed the money and left.

Joe looked at the message. "Father and brother coming to Salt Flats. Wait." Joe sighed and read the wire again. He knew his father and brother had left for Salt Flats immediately, trusting one of the hands or Hop Sing to send the wire. They were on their way and Joe relaxed slightly but he knew that if he relaxed too much, he would fall apart and Adam needed him to keep himself together.

"We're coming, Adam. We're coming," Joe whispered under his breath.

TBC


	6. Part 6

Part 6

Joe sat bolt upright in bed; he could have sworn that he heard Adam call his name. He had heard it pure and clear as if Adam had been standing next to him. Then, as Joe sat in the dark listening, Hop Sing's stories of ancestral ghosts and spirits of the dead haunting those who had been responsible for their demise came back to him. Joe had always been frightened by Hop Sing's stories and the altar he had in his room where he burned incense to please and honor the household gods and on certain days, he burned the incense for his "Honorable ancestors. Smell of jasmine keep dead pleased." Hop Sing had stated that the dead couldn't taste but they could smell so it was important to burn the incense and to keep fresh flowers for them.

Joe suddenly considered that, Adam might be dead and had called to him as a spirit. Despite the heat, a chill ran through him. "Just one of Hop Sing's stories," Joe told himself. "I was only dreaming." His father always said that superstition was nonsense but that he indulged Hop Sing's continuous reverence for the dead because it was more important in the Chinese culture than in theirs. But Joe still remembered when he was about three or four, overhearing his mother, Marie, talking to Hop Sing once about voodoo and sympathetic magic. In New Orleans, she said, some people believed they could kill or harm an enemy by sticking needles in a poppet representing him or win another's love through spells, through incantations and the making of candle magic.

Joe tried to shake the feeling off as the result of his lack of sleep. He was soaked in his own sweat; even the sheets were damp and he threw them aside and walked to the open window. No breeze stirred the curtains; there was no movement in the dark streets below. It was like a ghost town. His body glistened in the light of the moon and he resembled a slick puma waiting to pounce, all his muscles at the ready.

Yet Joe couldn't rid himself of the idea that Adam was dead and he felt his pulse step up. "Hold yourself together, Joe. Don't fall apart now. Don't be a fool. Just one too many of Hop Sing's stories, that's all."

Adam felt a tap on his arm and heard a soft whisper: "Adam? You wake?" He rolled over in bed only to see the wide-eyes of his four year old brother, Joe.

"What is it, Joe?" Adam glanced at his mantle clock. He couldn't quite make out the time but it was still dark outside and his eyes were heavy.

"I think I gots a ghost in my room."

"You don't have a ghost in your room."

"Uh-huh, Adam. I gots a ghost in my room. It's going whooooooooo. Hoss said that's what ghosteses say. Whoooooo."

Adam sighed. "Go wake up Pa or your Mama They'll tell you there are no ghosts."

"But Mama said there are ghosteses where she's from. Maybe one of them followed her here and is hiding in my room. It's going 'Whooooooooooo'. It's gonna take me away, Adam. Or maybe it's one of Hop Sing's ancee…. maybe it's one of his ghosteses, his pa or mamma, the ones he's always burning those smelly sticks for? Maybe they're hiding in my room."

Adam sat up, disgusted. "Joe, there are no ghosts. The only things to be afraid of are the things you can see. Understand?" Adam waited. Joe looked thoughtful.

"But it's dark, Adam. I can't see anything in the dark. They're hiding in the dark. That why Hoss gots a light."

Adam stepped out of bed and pulled on his robe. "Let's go to your room." Joe wasn't usually afraid of the dark; it was Hoss who was and Joe had often called him scaredy-cat in a sing-song taunt: "Scaredy-cat, scared all night, gots to have himself a light."

Joe held Adam's hand as they walked barefoot on the cold wooden floor to his room. Adam lit the lamp, raised the wick, and held it up while he opened the closet doors.

"See? No ghosts." Then Adam put it on the floor and he and Joe looked under the bed.

"No ghosts there either. Now go back to bed, small stuff. C'mon." Adam reached down, picked Joe up and put him on his bed. Joe lay down and Adam tucked him in, then put out the lamp and started to leave.

But in a tiny voice, Joe said, "But Hoss says that ghosteses are invisible and no one can see them. But listen, Adam. Hear? Hear the 'whooooooooo'."

Adam stood silently listening. There was a light sound, a whooshing sound. Adam walked over to the window in Joe's room and pushed down on the casement. The sound stopped.

"See, Joe, the sound was just the wind coming in a crack at the bottom of the window. It just wasn't shut all the way. There are no ghosts." Then a thought occurred to Adam. "Joe, has Hoss been telling you scary stories about ghosts?" Joe nodded. Adam couldn't really blame Hoss; Joe teased Hoss every chance about his fear of the dark. Adam supposed that this was just Hoss' way to get back a bit at Joe.

"The ghost is going to come back after you leave, Adam. Hoss says that ghosteses always haunt the same place and I'm being haunteded."

"Oh, for the love of God, Joe…" Adam looked down at his small brother and suddenly saw himself when he had been Joe's age. So many times he had been left alone and Adam remembered how frightened he was and how he would hide under the covers waiting for his father to return from his day's work. Another boarder or the landlady would check on him but for the most part, Adam was alone-and cold. Being frightened and cold were joined in his memory and he didn't want Joe to feel the way he had.

"Scoot over, Joe." Adam lifted the sheet and blanket and Joe, grinning, scooted over to make room for Adam in his narrow bed. Adam decided that in the morning, he would talk to his father and to Hoss about Joe's fear; Marie and Hop Sing, he would leave to his father to speak to. But tonight, he would sleep in Joe's room.

Adam turned on his side, crossing his arms in front of him and he felt Joe's small body snuggle up against his back.

"Thanks, Adam," Joe said.

"It's the only way I'll get any sleep," Adam replied.

"I need you to scare off the ghosteses," Joe said.

"Joe, for the last time….," Adam said, ready to tell Joe again that ghosts didn't exist-but he stopped. "Go to sleep. We'll chase all the 'ghosteses' away in the morning, okay?"

"Okay, Adam." Joe felt secure and safe. His big-brother was there and no one, not even ghosts would bother him now.

Joe slept very little that night; his mind kept churning over what he should have done, the errors he made in looking for Adam. He beat himself up for what he should have done differently and how, if he had only gone with Adam instead of selfishly staying in Eastgate, Adam wouldn't be missing. And for the next day and half, doubts and fears filled him. He wanted to be moving, to be searching instead of just waiting but he knew that he needed to be there when his pa and brother arrived or his father would worry about him as well. And Joe could only imagine the hell his father was going through. And then there was Hoss' Hoss worried silently, keeping all his fears hidden within. Joe could picture Hoss, how he would sit his horse, his brow furrowed and try to keep his father's spirit up. So until they arrived in Salt Flats, Joe paced his room like an animal in a cage or sat in the saloon nursing a beer. But the nights were the worst. Joe had truly become a haunted man, haunted by his own terrors and guilt.

"There he is, Pa. Joe!"

Joe turned his head at the familiar voice. Ben and Hoss hurried over to Joe who now stood by what had become his regular table in The Silver Lady saloon.

"Joe," Ben said, touching Joe's cheek with one hand and gripping his upper arm with the other. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Pa." Waves of guilt came over Joe; Adam was missing, maybe dead and he was fine. He had hoped to hand the whole problem over to his father, to fall into his father's arms as he had done so many times before and let his father make everything all right but when Joe looked into his father's eyes, he saw a man filled with worry and confusion. Joe knew that his father was depending on him to lead them to Adam-or what was remaining of his oldest son, his first born, his beloved Adam. So Joe swallowed and squared his shoulders; he couldn't relegate his burden to his father's shoulders or anyone else's. "I'll tell you what happened on the way. Let me get my things from my room." Joe turned to his brother. "Hoss, I have Adam's horse. He's in the livery. Pay the bill and saddle him up, would you?"

"Why you got Adam's horse? Where's Cooch?" Hoss asked. Hoss looked as confused as his father.

"I'll fill you in but let's leave. We'll go to Signal Rock and take it from there."

Joe left for the hotel and Hoss and Ben stared at one another.

"I'll go to the livery," Hoss said. "Meet you and Joe out front." Hoss looked at his father and thought that his Pa had never looked so old; worry did that to a person and ever since Joe's wire had arrived, actually since two days before Joe's wire, Ben had been worried. Adam and Joe were late and although he had tried not to show it, Hoss had seen a distant look in his father's eyes and knew that he was thinking of Joe and Adam and wondering why they weren't yet home.

"Sit down, Pa." Ben allowed himself to be gently pushed down by Hoss. Hoss looked around until he caught the bartender's eye. He raised one finger and the bartender nodded and proceeded to draw a beer. Hoss sat down at the table. "You drink a beer, Pa. I'll be back in a minute."

"Hoss, I don't have time to drink a beer. Adam is missing and…I don't know what's going on." Ben looked lost. The bartender brought the mug to the table and Hoss paid.

"You drink it, Pa." Hoss patted his father on the shoulder. "You barely been eatin'. I'll come get you soon's I got Adam's horse saddled. Now drink." And Hoss watched until Ben raised the glass to his lips and took a lengthy swallow. Then Hoss stood, patted his father on the shoulder again and left for the livery.

TBC


	7. Part 7

Part 7

"Pa ain't barely slept the whole trip," Hoss said to Joe as they sat around the fire; they just eaten a dinner of beans and bacon. The three men had traveled through the remainder of the day and half the night. "If we didn't hafta stop to rest the horses, he probably wouldn't 've even eaten anything either."

Joe looked at his father who was sleeping sitting up, resting against a rock, he head lolling to one side. Before he fell into an exhausted sleep, Ben had said they still had time to keep looking but Hoss said that the horses needed more rest. They had also brought a pack horse along with them and although no one had mentioned it, they all knew that it was in case they found Adam's body; they could tie it on the horse's back but Hoss had also packed a small shovel. While he was loading up the horse with extra canteens and supplies, Ben had looked at him and asked, "Why are you bringing that shovel along?"

"Well….you always told us to be ready for anythin' when we was travelin'." And Hoss went back to loading up the extra horse. They both knew why Hoss was bringing the shovel but it hung in the air; neither of them even wanted to breathe the possibility that Adam might need burying.

"It's all my fault," Joe said. "I should've gone with Adam or tried to stop him, talked him out of it."

"Since when has anyone been able to talk Adam outta anything once he's made up his mind?" Joe gave a slight laugh; Hoss was right. They didn't call Adam the "Yankee Granite Head" for nothing; he earned it. "The only way you coulda stopped him would be to shoot 'im in the leg and even then, he probably woulda hobbled out."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But, Hoss…you know, I've been doing a lot of thinking about Adam and me…well, you and me, we were always going to him for everything, expecting him to take care of things and he always did. Our problems in school—remember how he would always go in and take care of things so we wouldn't have to tell Pa?" Hoss laughed at the memory. "I don't think Adam was ever afraid of anything," Joe said.

They sat in silence for a few seconds and then Hoss said quietly, "Yeah, he was. Adam was afraid of Injuns. He told me that ever since he saw my ma killed by Indians, he was 'fraid of them. He said when he was small he wouldn't sleep with his window open no matter how hot it was, 'fraid Injuns would either shoot an arrow through it or crawl in the window and scalp 'im while he slept."

"He does have a helluva lot of hair." Joe grinned and Hoss chuckled. "I never knew that about Adam," Joe said, "that he was afraid of Indians when he was little."

"That's cause you're so much younger. I 'member him sayin' that he still gets a little start ever time he turns and sees an Injun on the street."

The brothers sat in companionly silence, each thinking their own thoughts. Then Hoss spoke. "Remember when Adam was shot by one of Cochise's men? You went out there even though they had us pinned down, and saved Adam, carried 'im back yourself. You were there when he needed you and you're here now. You did the right thing, Joe. Don't doubt yourself. Adam never did—not never—he never doubted you."

"But I should've gone along. If I had, then Adam wouldn't be missing."

"Now, Joe, you don't know that. Might be Pa and me'd be lookin' for both of you? You can't prove that your goin' along would've changed anything."

"You sound just like Adam," Joe said.

"Yeah," Hoss said, grinning. "I guess I do. Old Adam's education musta rubbed off on me over the years. Him and his logic. He was always usin' it on us. What was that term he used when you talked about things that woulda happened if you had done something differently? I 'member when you was accused of killing Mary Parsons and Adam used his logic on Hiram—got 'im all steamed up."

"Look, Hiram, it's hypothesis contrary to fact. The prosecutor can't use that argument. It may be true but there's no proof of it. Maybe the person who killed her did so for another reason." Adam, Hoss and Ben were in their lawyer's office discussing the case against Joe who was locked in a jail cell. He had been accused of killing a pregnant Mary Parson and her father and brothers wanted Joe dead—either through a legal hanging or by their own guns. "I'm not telling you how to run your case, Hiram…"

"Good," Hiram said sarcastically," because for a moment there, it sounded as if you were."

"Adam, maybe you should cool off a bit," Ben said. He knew how determined Adam could be when he felt he was right.

Adam stood with his hands on his hips. "I don't need to cool off. Actually, it sounds as if I'm the only one thinking with a cool, logical head. What do we know? That Hardner saw a buggy with a paint pony tied behind it and a man's leg with a left-handed holster—actually, we don't even know that it was a man's—could have been a woman wearing trousers. And that's all Hardner saw. He can't even say whether the pony had a solid-colored tail or a parti-colored one—just assumed it was Cochise. And Hardner never even heard a voice—was ignored when he called out hello. None of that is proof that it was Joe. And Joe says that he was never with Mary."

"And Joe ain't no liar, Hiram." Hoss had to put that in. Joe had many flaws; he was a ladies' man, hot-headed, and enjoyed playing jokes on his brothers but he didn't lie.

Hiram spoke up as he sat at his desk. "Everyone knows that Joe wears a left-handed holster and that he rides a pinto and the jury will know that Mary told her father that she was going out with Joe, the only conclusion being that it was Joe who killed her."

"Look," Adam said, leaning with both hands on Hiram's desk, "that's the whole point! If Joe was going to kill Mary Parsons, he wouldn't have been so obvious. And the fact that everyone knows he's left-handed and that he rides a pinto should only show how easy he is to frame. That should be evident to anyone."

"The people on the jury won't see it that way. To them, all those things only seem to support the charge."

"Well, can't you make them see it logically, that it's all circumstantial evidence and proof of nothing—and poor evidence at that?"

"I can try." Hiram thoughtfully stroked his beard.

Adam was close to losing his temper. "Try? We're not paying you to try!" Ben reached out and took Adam by the arm, pulling him from the desk.

"Adam, Hiram knows what he's doing."

"Well, I don't happen to think he does. If we leave it to him, Joe will hang. That's a foregone conclusion."

"Now just a minute." Hiram stood up, obviously angry and insulted. "You're the one who's arriving at illogical foregone conclusions. I happen to be a highly competent lawyer. I have taken care of the Ponderosa's…"

Ben tried to calm his old friend. "Of course you have, Hiram. Adam, don't you think that you owe Hiram an apology?"

Adam let out his breath. "Sorry, Hiram, but I tell you one thing, if there's been another pinto and left-handed holster sold recently with twenty miles of Virginia City, Hoss and I will find it. I'm not going to just sit around on my ass and wait while the fine people of Virginia City find Joe guilty on such puny evidence and hang him. We'll contradict that circumstantial evidence on our own."

And Hoss and Joe walked out; no harm was going to come to their younger brother. Nothing and no one was going to frame Joe for a crime he didn't do. They would both make sure of that.

"Adam, you think we can do it? Find another pinto and holster?" Hoss asked.

"We have to," Adam replied with a worried look. "And we will; it's the only logical answer."

"We best catch some sleep," Hoss told Joe. "Pa'll want to leave soon's he wakes up."

"To be honest, Hoss, I'm itchy to leave now too. I can barely stand to sit still thinking that Adam needs us."

"I know, Joe, I know. But killin' yourself ain't gonna help Adam none."

"How'd you get so logical," Joe asked with a small grin. Hoss smiled and resting against the rock face, pulled his hat down over his eyes and crossed his arms in front of him to sleep.

Joe knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He stared at the fire as it slowly burned itself out, impatiently waiting for the first light of day.

TBC


	8. Part 8

Part 8

Hoss had dismounted many times to examine the ground. He knew the tracks were old but he was sure that he found the tracks of his brother. There were also tracks of two men riding together, a little older than Adam's. As Ben, Hoss and Joe rode, they would take turns calling for Adam and every so often, they would stop and fire a gun and then wait and listen. Once Joe swore he heard something after Hoss had fired off a series of shots.

"Listen," Joe said. The three of them sat, straining to hear anything.

"I don't hear nothin'," Hoss said. "You musta been imaginin' things."

"No, I heard something, like someone scuttling on a rock. I heard it." Joe was sure that he had heard a noise like boots scraping on a rock.

"Fire another shot," Ben said.

Hoss fired off two more shots and they listened but this time Joe had to admit he heard nothing. And yet…

Hoss finally found the spot where Adam's horse stopped and stirred up the dust covering the rocky ground. But there were the tracks of two other horses as well and the animals had milled around. This was the spot where all three sets of tracks met up.

Ben dismounted; he had spotted something under a desert shrub. He picked up a coiled holster belt and ran his hands along the smooth leather.

"That's Adam's," Hoss said.

"No gun," Joe added. "An empty holster. They took his gun. Gann and Preston took his gun, took his horse, his money and his water and left Adam on foot." Joe wished he had found Gann and Preston alive—they would have prayed for death then.

"We need to split up," Ben said. "We can cover more ground. Hoss, you go west, Joe east. I'll take this way. See that mountain over there, about five miles away?" Joe and Hoss looked where their father was pointing and nodded. "We'll meet there day after tomorrow." Ben looked up at the sun. "We'll meet when the sun is in the same position. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Hoss said. Joe nodded.

"Make sure that you fire off shots as you search and call out. If you find Adam, fire three shots quickly. We'll get to you, whoever it is." Ben tucked Adam's gun belt in his saddle bag. "Hoss, you take the pack horse."

"Yes, sir." Hoss watched as Ben took his horse's reins and began to walk, to follow the boot tracks that indicated a man was on foot. "Pa, you can't go on this way. You ain't slept for 'bout three days now. You need to rest."

"After we find him. Then I'll rest. After we find him."

Hoss and Joe looked at one another. Their father was a man possessed and they didn't know how to handle it. Between the two of them, they had admitted that Adam may never be found—not him or even his remains. But although Joe had said it to Hoss, he still couldn't accept it. Not Adam. Adam couldn't be dead.

For the rest of the day Joe searched the ground looking for anything that would indicate a man had passed that way; he knew he wasn't as good a tracker as Hoss but he had watched and noticed the things that Hoss examined. It was slow going. Joe knew why his father was focusing on this section; a man couldn't go much farther without water.

That night Joe tried to sleep after a meal of jerky and hard tack that was softened by being dipped in his coffee. He smiled when he thought of how Hoss must be yearning for Hop Sing's cooking. And Adam was always there to tease Hoss about his voracious appetites. Not only could Hoss eat three helpings in a row, Adam had once said to Joe, but he could also handle three women at a time. Adam shook his head at the thought of their visit to a brothel the previous night; Hoss was a man of great appetites.

Things wouldn't be the same without Adam, Joe told himself. He had heard the term "phantom pain" from Dr. Martin about a ranch hand who had his leg crushed under a horse and had to have it amputated. It referred to pain felt in a missing limb; whenever the "pain" was felt the person reached down to touch their arm or leg only to be reminded it was gone—gone—and it caused pain despite its absence.

And for Joe, that's what it had been like to have Adam gone away for almost five years when he went back east for school. Joe would forget Adam was gone, would run to tell Adam something and then he'd remember. Joe was reminded of Adam every time he passed the empty bedroom next to his or sat to table, Adam's place vacant, or received a letter from Adam just for him—the pain of loss would remind him his brother was gone. The ache in his heart would eventually subside but then something would happen or his father would say Adam's name and Joe would have to ask, "When's Adam coming home?" The whole world had seemed different to Joe when Adam was gone—gone for what to young Joe, seemed a lifetime.

The night before he was to catch the stage for the first leg of his journey, Adam had his carpet bag on the bed and was making sure he had packed everything he needed for the trip. He and Pa had made a list of what to take and Adam, always conscientious, was going over it again. He suddenly became aware of Joe's presence behind him. Adam turned and there was Joe, looking as if he was going to cry.

"What's the matter, Joe?" Adam asked.

Joe ran to him and clasped him around the legs.

"Don't leave, Adam," Joe said, breaking into sobs.

Adam got down on one knee and Joe threw his small arms around Adam's neck.

"Joe," Adam said, holding Joe to him, "it won't be for very long. I'll be back." He could feel Joe's small body heave and shake with sobs. Suddenly, Adam felt an intense, overwhelming grief; all the irrevocable losses he had known came rushing back- his mother, Hoss' mother, Joe's mother, his friend who died of influenza, all of these pressed upon him. He didn't really want to leave his family-part of him did, but the greater part didn't. Adam held Joe even tighter; he felt the smallness of Joe's body and thought that it was like holding a delicate bird in his arms with its fine bones, practically weightless. Adam picked Joe up and sat on the bed. Joe sitting on his lap, his arms still around Adam's neck, his small face tucked next to Adam's.

"I don't want you to go away, Adam. Please stay!"

"Joe, I have to go to school so that I can learn more things and all the things I learn, I'll bring back here, to the Ponderosa." Adam stroked the back of Joe's head with one hand while holding him close with the other arm.

Joe pulled back to look at his oldest brother. "But can't you learn those things here? Hoss goes to school here and I'll be going next year and we could all go together." Joe looked at Adam wondering why Adam couldn't see how they could all stay together. That's what Joe wanted most. He didn't want to lose this brother whom he adored.

"But I have to go to another school, a bigger school where they teach things you can't learn here. And like I said, it won't be too long."

"How long?" Joe asked. "How many birthdays?'

"About three or four," Adam said. Joe held out his hand and looked at his fingers. He knew that he was five years old, almost six, so he counted another four fingers on his other hand.

"I'll be two hands, Adam. That's a long time until you come back."

"Not so long. You'll see."

"But what if I can't 'member your face in my head?"

Adam was struck silent. He didn't know what to say. He knew what Joe meant and it tore at him. Joe was young and four years was almost double his lifetime so far; Joe would forget much in that space. Adam suddenly realized how much Joe and Hoss would change while he was gone-they might be like strangers when he returned. He wouldn't know what they would look like; he wouldn't see them change and grow.

"Close your eyes, Joe." Joe squeezed his eyes shut and Adam had to smile at how Joe scrunched up his face. "Now, can you see me in your head?"

With his eyes still shut, Joe said, "Yeah, I can see you just like here." And a big smile spread across Joe's face when he opened his eyes. "I saw you, Adam, just like now."

"Good. Whenever you want to see me, just close your eyes and make my picture in your head and I'll be with you no matter where you are. And you know what, Joe? I'll write letters just to you."

"With my name on them and everything?"

"Yup. And I'll write, 'Dear Joe,' and then I'll tell you what I've been doing and I'll sign it, 'Your loving brother, Adam.' Would you like that?"

Joe energetically nodded his head, his curls bobbing. "I sure would."

"Okay, then, it's a deal." And Adam put out his hand and Joe shook it. Adam marveled at the smallness of Joe's hand in his and then, impulsively, Adam reached out and pulled Joe to him. Until that moment, Adam hadn't realized how overwhelming his love for his small brother was. He felt the tears start in his eyes and swallowed deeply to keep them back.

"I love you, Joe," Adam whispered.

And then Joe kissed Adam on the cheek and whispered back, "I love you too."

Adam swallowed again to keep from crying. "How about you and me going downstairs and having some bread, butter and sugar? Maybe Hoss will want some too. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Joe said and jumped off the bed and headed down the stairs, calling after him, "C'mon, Adam."

Adam sat a few moments more. "Remember me, Joe, remember me," he said quietly. And then he got up to go downstairs.

The echo of shots woke Joe; he couldn't remember having fallen asleep but he must have. He rubbed his eyes and then stood up. It hadn't been three shots, just a shot to call for Adam to respond. Joe saddled the horse and rode off; heading toward the place they were to meet. It was slow-going and Joe wasn't patient but he knew how important this was so he made himself go slow and he dismounted often to check for tracks.

Nothing-there was nothing except S-marks on the sand where a snake had passed or a coyote spoor as the animal had loped through looking for food.

"Just hold on, Adam, just hold on," Joe whispered. And he fired off a shot, knowing his father and brother Hoss would hear it. But what about Adam? Would he hear it? And if he could, would he even be able to respond?

TBC


	9. Part 9

Part 9

Ben could barely sit his horse. Hoss was afraid that his father would topple over. They had searched straight for almost two days with very little rest; Ben Cartwright was a driven man.

"Pa, it's been two weeks since Adam left Eastgate. Ain't no way a man could survive in this place for longer than that," Hoss said.

"I know, I know," Ben said. His shoulders were drooping and Hoss and Joe knew that if they didn't take over, Ben would never give up his search for Adam; they worried about his sanity. Ben had been seeing things, hallucinations, and hearing things, believing that he heard Adam calling for help, answering when he called out which Ben had done so often that he was now hoarse.

"We're going to have to face it, Pa," Joe said, "we're not going to find Adam."

Ben didn't want to face it. Dying out here was as horrible as dying alone at sea, drowning in the dark waters with the body never to be found, eventually consumed by fish and crabs. "I suppose you're right. If only we could have found his body," Ben said, his voice breaking.

Joe looked down so his family wouldn't see his quivering lip. They had finally decided among them that Adam was dead. Joe didn't know how he would be able to bear the grief and guilt he felt. It was like a lead weight strapped to him, weighing him down; Joe knew he would never be happy again, never laugh, never feel anything but this darkness that descended on him.

Even if no one else ever blamed him, Joe would blame himself. He would always be the one who survived the trip, the one who was so selfish and who wanted his comforts so much that he allowed his brother to go off and die alone in the wilderness—that was how he saw it.

Joe and Hoss turned their horses, toward home, Hoss clucking to the pack horse, but Ben didn't follow. Joe turned to call to his father but Ben was just sitting on his horse, staring open-mouthed at the vista below.

"Pa? What is it?" Joe followed his father's stare and he couldn't believe what he saw. Out in this area of rocks and a merciless sun with just wild animals, serpents and insects, was a man pulling someone on a travois. The man who was pulling was trudging along, every step an effort. He swayed slightly under the weight of his burden.

"Hoss," Joe called. Hoss looked back and saw Joe was pointing. Hoss stared as well, the sight not quite sinking in.

Ben at first thought that he was going mad, that he was hallucinating from lack of sleep and was seeing what he hoped to see.

"Do you see him, Joe?" Ben asked. "I'm not imagining it, am I?"

"No, Pa. I see him too. I think it's Adam."

Ben called out for his son, his voice breaking and then he kicked his horse and headed down the rocky slope. Joe and Hoss followed, Hoss having dropped the pack horse's reins.

It was Adam. Ben dismounted and went to Adam as he dropped the travois and fell onto the ground, desperately crawling to get away from these men who had come upon him. Ben spoke to him, tried to get through to Adam, and as Adam unintelligibly rambled on about games and water and food, Ben held onto his eldest son, clasped him to his chest and kept repeating, "It's me, Adam. It's me," until Adam sobbed out, "Oh, Pa," and fell into his father's arms.

Joe had grabbed his canteen and poured some water on his hand and rubbed it over Adam's cracked lips. "He's been through some kind of hell, Pa." And Joe handed the canteen to his father who sparingly gave Adam the water he desperately needed.

Joe patted his father's arm; both his father and Adam had been through some kind of hell. Joe was moved by the love his father showed for Adam and felt overwhelming relief that Adam had been found but now he would have to face Adam, would have to beg for his forgiveness. "A man's responsible for what he does," Adam had earlier told him and Joe knew that he had no one to blame but himself for what had happened. And he was the one who had finally convinced his father to turn back, to give up.

Adam had been home a month. The doctor in Eastgate said that Adam suffered from severe dehydration and could use a few good meals. Adam was thin, had dropped close to fifteen pounds due to nearly starving and loss of fluids. But now Dr. Martin back home had finally given Adam a clean bill of health but told him to take it easy; the body broke down under conditions of semi-starvation and Adam needed to slowly build himself back up.

But none of them knew what had happened to Adam those two weeks he had been missing. He confirmed that he had been robbed by two men and been left on foot with no water. Adam also identified the dead man on the travois as Peter Kane, a miner at whose camp Adam had stayed. But that was all. The only thing he told his father when he asked was that he brought Kane along to prove something to himself; that he wouldn't leave another human to die alone in that hellish landscape.

Didn't a crucible, through intense heat, strengthen a substance, burn out impurities? Adam asked. Ben had answered yes, yes, that's what a crucible was for. And all Adam would say was that he had been through an ordeal that he hoped had made him a better man. But he wasn't sure; he didn't know. Only time would tell.

Joe hadn't been the same either since they had found Adam. Joe expected Adam to blame him but he didn't. Adam said that it was own hard-headedness that had caused things to happen the way they had. Joe wasn't to blame. But Joe still felt as if every time his father or Hoss looked at him, they blamed him. It seemed to Joe that whenever the ranch hands looked at him or people in town asked him about Adam, he saw the assignment of culpability in their eyes.

It had been a hard day on the ranch and Joe had worn himself out; that was the only way he could fall asleep anymore. But Joe awoke to a sound as if someone was struggling in Adam's room. He quickly got up and rushed to the bedroom next to his, opened the door and saw Adam sitting up in bed. Even in the pale moonlight, Joe could see the look of fear in his eyes.

"Adam, you okay?'

Adam's chest was heaving as he breathed. "Yeah, I had a dream of… Joe, out there, in the desert, I almost killed a man with my bare hands. I wanted to strangle him, to see his tongue loll out of his mouth and his eyes roll back in his head. I wanted to murder him. I know what I'm capable of, Joe. Now I know the kind of man I am and I don't think things will ever be the same way again."

"The man you were dragging—Kane, is he the one?"

Adam nodded, falling back onto his pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Yes. He's the one. I hated him, Joe, feared him-I couldn't let him win. But I couldn't kill him, I couldn't be like him—but maybe I am. I was so close—so close."

"You want to talk about it?" Joe asked. He sat down in the chair next to Adam's bed.

"Yeah, Joe, I do, but are you sure you want to hear? It might change your opinion of me, lower it?"

"Oh, hell, Adam, I got such a low opinion of you now that you can't lose any more ground."

And after a second's pause, Adam laughed. For the first time in over a month, someone in his family was treating him as if he wasn't a delicate invalid—it was Joe. And Adam and Joe laughed together, an open, easy laugh between brothers that brought ease to them both.

"It used to be me checking on you when you had a nightmare," Adam said, "and now it looks like the tables have turned."

"Nah," Joe replied. "The tables haven't turned; I'm just repaying you for all the times you helped me through rough spots. You were always there for me, Adam and I wasn't there for you when you needed me."

"You're here now." And Adam began to tell Joe about all that befallen him and how he had survived, how memories had sustained him—and how he had been lost but had finally been found. And Joe felt that he had been found as well.

~ Finis ~


End file.
